The rain fell in sheets. It was cold. Not just wet. Colder. A biting chill that settled in the bones. Elias stood by the roadside. He held his hat low. The mud sucked at his boots. He looked up. A carriage was coming. No. Not a carriage. A wagon. Covered in black cloth.

Whoa. The driver called out. He was a big man. Broad shoulders. He wore a red coat. It was bright against the gray sky. Red like blood. Or rust.

Elias watched. The wagon stopped. It creaked. The wheels spun in the mud.

Get in, Elias said. His voice was quiet. He did not shout. He did not raise his weapon. He just waited.

The driver looked at him. His eyes were wide. White. Scared. He looked past Elias. He looked at the thing in the back.

What do you want? The driver asked. His hands shook on the reins.

The mask, Elias said.

The driver laughed. It was a short, dry sound. Like a twig snapping. You want the mask? He pointed a thick finger. Look.

Elias stepped forward. The mud squelched. He looked into the wagon. It was empty. No. Not empty. There was a box. A wooden box. Carved with strange symbols. It was open.

Inside was a face. A porcelain face. White. Smooth. It had no eyes. Just two holes. A mouth. A perfect, frozen smile.

That is not a mask, the driver said. He spat. It is a curse.

Elias reached for it. His hand hovered. The air felt thick. Heavy. Like water.

Take it, the driver said. The tone changed. It was no longer fear. It was anger. Take it and leave. But know this. It will not let go.

Elias took the box. It was light. Too light. He set it on the ground.

Go, he said.

The driver whipped the horse. The wagon lurched forward. Mud flew. It hit Elias’s face. He did not wipe it. He watched the red coat disappear into the rain.

He was alone.

The road was long. The trees on either side were tall. They leaned in. Like listeners. The rain stopped. The sky turned a pale, sickly yellow.

Elias walked. He carried the box in his hand. It swung. Left. Right. Left. Right. A rhythm. A heartbeat.

He felt it. A pull. Not in his arm. In his chest. In his mind. It was warm. It was familiar. It was like remembering a name he had forgotten.

He sat down. By a stone. He opened the box again. He looked at the face. The porcelain skin was flawless. He picked it up. It was cold.

He held it to his face. He touched the smooth forehead. He touched the nose. He touched the cheek.

It fit.

No. It did not fit. It was just a shape. But it felt like home.

He put it back. He closed the lid.

He walked on.

The village was small. It was built of gray stone. Smoke rose from the chimneys. It was thin. Weak.

People watched him. They did not speak. They stood by their doors. They held their breath.

He saw a woman. She was young. She stood near the well. Her hair was dark. Her eyes were bright. She looked at the box in his hand.

She stepped forward.

You have it, she said.

Elias stopped. He did not look at her. He looked at the road.

Yes, he said.

Give it to me, she said. Her voice was steady. Strong.

Why? he asked.

Because it is yours.

It is not mine.

It is. Look at your hands.

He looked. His hands were trembling. They were stained with mud. And something else. A dark stain. It was spreading. From his fingertips. Up his wrists. It looked like ink. Or blood.

He looked at the woman. Her face was calm. Too calm.

Who are you? he asked.

I am Martha.

I know. I know who you are.

You do not.

He looked at her. Really looked. He saw the lines around her eyes. He saw the tension in her jaw. He saw the fear. It was there. Deep. Under the surface.

I know, he said.

She stepped closer. She reached for the box.

Elias pulled it back.

Let me help, she said.

You cannot help.

I can.

No.

She grabbed his arm. Her grip was tight. She yanked him toward the well.

Look, she said.

He looked. The water in the well was black. It did not reflect the sky. It reflected the box. And the face.

The face was smiling.

Elias felt a surge of rage. It was hot. It burned. He pushed Martha away. She stumbled. She hit the stone wall.

Leave, he said.

Go, she said.

He turned. He walked away. He did not look back.

He walked to the edge of the village. He stopped. He looked down. Below was a valley. Mist rose from it.

He sat on the grass. He opened the box.

The face was waiting.

He took it out. He held it up. The light hit the porcelain. It glowed. Softly.

He put it on.

It slid over his head. It was tight. It pressed against his skin. He could not breathe. He could not blink.

He saw.

He saw the road behind him. He saw the woman. Martha. She was running. She was screaming. He did not hear her.

He saw the driver. The man in the red coat. He was walking. He was smiling.

He saw the box. It was empty.

He took the mask off. He dropped it. It hit the ground. It did not shatter. It lay there. White.

He stood up. He felt light. He felt empty.

He walked back to the village.

Martha was gone.

The village was empty.

The houses were silent. The smoke was gone.

He walked to the center. He sat by the well.

He waited.

He did not know how long he waited. An hour. A day. A year.

The rain started again.

It fell. It fell. It fell.

He did not move.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He turned.

It was Martha.

She was wet. Her hair was plastered to her face. She was shaking.

I am here, she said.

You are dead, he said.

I am here.

She sat down next to him. She did not touch the box. She did not look at the mask on the ground.

She looked at him.

Do you feel it? she asked.

Feel what?

The pull.

He looked at his hands. They were clean. The stain was gone.

I feel nothing, he said.

That is good, she said.

He looked at her. He saw the life in her eyes. He saw the fear. He saw the love. It was there. It was destructive. It burned.

He reached for her hand. He took it. He held it tight.

We are together, she said.

Yes, he said.

The rain stopped. The sun came out. It was bright. It was warm.

They sat there. In the silence.

The mask lay in the mud. It was fading. The white was turning gray. The smile was cracking.

Elias looked at it. He felt a pang. A sharp, sudden pain. It was in his chest. It was in his heart.

He looked at Martha. She was smiling. It was not a frozen smile. It was real. It was soft.

He closed his eyes.

He let go.

He let go of the pull. He let go of the curse. He let go of the mask.

He held her hand.

The pain remained. It was a dull ache. It would not go away. It was part of him now.

But he was free.

He was free.

The sun set. The sky turned purple. Then black.

Stars came out. They were bright. They were cold.

Elias stood up. He took Martha’s hand.

Let us go, he said.

Where? she asked.

Home, he said.

They walked. They walked out of the village. They walked into the mist.

They did not look back.

The mask was gone.

The road was long.

But they were together.

And that was enough.

That was enough.